


Tales from Beyond the Black Tapestry

by Penumbra Penn (Penumbra_Penn)



Category: Chronicles of Darkness - Fandom
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Gen, Horror, M/M, Magic, Multi, Original Character(s), Other, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:22:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28510365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penumbra_Penn/pseuds/Penumbra%20Penn
Summary: A collection of mostly CofD based fiction. Pretty much all short stories, some are connected directly, others are not. All of it shares the same general setting. Several include lyric prompts as part of writing exercises with friends.





	1. Fruits of the Other World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A misfortune young man navigates an encounter with one of the Titles of the True Fae.

"Taste everything they feed you, say it tastes real great, then spit it down your sleeve the second you get the chance." 

Seymor finished buttoning the very last button on Elis' shirt, and gave him a lingering look in the eyes before stepping aside. Looking in the mirror he seemed almost as fancy as anyone could have made him, he thought. 

"Is it poisoned?" 

Seymor took in a tortured breath, 

"Worse. I can't say anything else." 

"I don't know how I could ever thank you-" 

"Then don't. Ever. Never ever thank anyone ever." 

Seymour replied, putting a firm hand on Elis' shoulder and a soft finger to his lips. Just as quickly as he placed his hands he retracted them. 

"Go ahead. You're expected." 

Elis made his way from the small dressing room into the hallway, his wandering eyes lingering on vivid paintings hung on fine hardwood, and golden stiching on crimson carpet. The "Ivory tower" hotel was grand as it was empty. He had seen noone but him, Seymour, and The Lady since he got here last month. At least, he thinks it was last month, without seeing the sky it gets hard to track time right. It wasn't long before he made his way to the grand doors leading in to the dining hall, and he gently opened them. 

Among the finery and dinnerware, boquets of multicolored flowers danced in tune with the crystal clear voice of The Lady. She sat at a grand piano at the far end of the hall, with a mountainous white wig settled over her baby blue gown that cascaded onto the marble floor. Elis stood at the entryway entranced by the melody, swaying gently as euphoria washed over him. As the Lady struck a note in that moment she shuddered and held it, tilting her head upwards and breathing in as if drawing in some exquisite scent. Finally, the note died on the piano string, then she gracefully removed her finger from the keys and rose to her height, facing the doorway. 

She was an unnatural beauty, ruin in silks, the midnight sun, a cowry shell in the sparrows nest. She was too hot for Elis to think straight, or talk really, or do much at all besides stand there red-faced breathing with his mouth just a bit open. She glided across the room, picking up a meat roll skewered on a golden toothpick, drawing it to his lips and sliding a hand to his back, guiding him to a seat at the table. He chewed until she passed him going toward her seat, and recalling Seymor's advice quietly spat out the delicate Hors d'oeuvre onto a silk napkin. He was sweating a bit already, it didn't help the hotel was hot and his clothes were stuffy. Uncomfortably he shifted in his seat as The Lady took hers, and showed a smile to him as she spoke,

"I'm very grateful that you came here to dine with me tonight. Seymour dressed you very nicely, you look so much better than you did in those rags you wore before we met." 

He liked his jeans more than these damn stiff pants, and he thought the button up was gaudy as it was tight, but he cracked an uneasy smirk anyways. The Lady motioned and the lights above dimned, with the candelabras on the table sparking to life with glittering red-gold fire. She said, 

"And, I must ask if you know, why I brought you here tonight." 

Elis blinked, his expression dampening a bit as he turned away to think, but The Lady was as Inscrutable as she was beautiful, and he couldn't muster up any decent ideas. After less than a minute of consternated thought, he noticed The Lady giggling. 

"Well, I wanted to ask you, since you enjoy my company, if we could take things to. Another level." 

A small box, unnoticed before now, slid from behind a tall plate of ham towards him. He really started to sweat then. 

"I- um. Well, huh I. Hm." 

"Go ahead, open it." 

The box moved a bit closer. 

Elis reached toward it like it was about to bite him, and opened it like it could blow up in his face. Right there inside sat a golden ring, with a diamond set at its top, filtering the candlelight into spectrums of spectacular breadth. He looked toward her, she looked toward him, and later that night, it was as he laid thinking about how good it was to be out of that stupid outfit that he realized it. He couldn't spit out what he just ate.


	2. The Fall of Northill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A cabal of magi belonging to the Guardians of the Veil ready their last stand against the surging forces of the Seers of the Iron Throne

A shuddering blast from the west wing signals the fall of the font doors as well as the defenses of the yard. Now, spread far as they can across the ballroom, each behind roughshod defenses, the inner circle of the Northill Labyrinth waits with creeping anticipation. The footfalls of the enemy approach then halt before the great double doors, and Canuleia knows with her sight there are five of them. Outnumbered and caught off guard, she knows just as well that this will be ugly. A high pitched voice calls from the hallway, 

"By the will of the General and the authority of the Praetorian ministry I demand you stand down and surrender. If you do not, your lives are forfeit." 

Canuela hears Tacitus swear under his breath, some curse he tried laying on the voices owner having failed against an unseen ward. Nervously, she looks to her other companion, Gaius Paulinus, begging with her eyes for him to respond to their attackers. His face is stone, and it dawns on her that he is determined not to hand his life to the Iron Throne. She sighs and steels herself before saying a few words in high speech to conjure her magical armor, ready for the worst. 

"Perhaps there is something I could do to persuade you? Your bravery in the face of death is the mark of a soldier, and a hardened one at that. It would be a shame if you died a needless death in uneven combat." 

Gaius snarled and shouted out, 

"I'll see my soul rent from my broken body before I kneel to your liar gods, prelate!" 

A bout of chucking came from behind the door before the prelate spoke up again, 

"A shame! You really would make a fierce combatant. Unlike your sleeper pets." 

Gaius stood up from where he crouched behind a table, face red as hot iron, and seemed to use all his willpower to keep himself from lashing out with a spell to send the doors splintering out at the seers. 

"They are so fragile, it was difficult to keep from breaking their skulls when we stormed in but we managed." 

Gaius' face quickly turned from anger to dawning horror as the prelate continued to speak, 

"Let me rephrase my offer. Surrender, or we will make sure your wards and charges suffer as we draw mana from their fading patterns, and take their souls as sacrament to the divine exarchs." 

Canuleia's stomach turned, and her breathing became quick and shallow. Her sister would have been in the yard today. Gaius looked at her, and then to Tacitus, before turning away to think. 

"Five minutes, heretics. Unless you surrender, your lives as well as theirs shall end in a manner most gruesome, and unless each of you recant, your herd of sweet sheep will be put to slaughter."


	3. Ave Maria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look at recent events in a bloodstained city, praying for mercy.

The words alone are enough to make any kindred in the city cringe, and they have good reason to be afraid. It started many nights ago, when a lay member of the chapel and spear was found beheaded in his haven. His rotten guts were ripped from his carcass and arranged in a ritual manner with his head stuck in the middle of it. The words Ave Maria were written on the wall behind him in blood. Not a month later an eerily similar scene appeared, this time a nun, stripped and impaled on a metal spike, her guts arranged around her and the words Ave Maria written on a nearby wall. Before long just the words were found in an alleyway amidst an unusual amount of dust and ash, and the cities kindred realized with a dawning fear they were being hunted. 

The bishop called the church council to discuss what was happening, and through divination in sanctified blood they saw visions of benighted wings and gleaming yellow eyes in the dark. Half the council descended into mad frenzy, and two members died in the chaos of the revelation that the strix had come for them. Noone would be safe it seemed, as the murders went on and laity died beside clergy. Somewhere else, a circle of kindred couldn't keep themselves from laughing. 

The murders were justified, and each of them had hardened themselves to the cruelty of the premeditated slaughter of their kin. The sanctum wouldn't hold over the city forever, and their dark grip was loosening fast. Fevered visions of the night owls plagued the daydreams of their enemies, and the city bled vampires like a stuck pig. The Circle of Mary's Mercy, a heretical sect of blood-magic weilding kindred, was fond of conjuring such threats. It wasn't long before they started scattering wood ash under their calling card phrase just to make themselves look more prolific. The panic only grew, and now as the congregation of the night grew weak, they prepared to strike openly.


	4. Puff of Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of the Arisen reflects on his past, and currenf condition.

Gamal blew out a cloud of vapor, then watched it spread and disperse in the open air. Soon enough it was gone. He held up the electronic pipe and looked into the glass case. To him the circuits looked like streets on a city map, and no city captured his nostalgia like old Irem. The city of pillars and guilds and scarlet robed sorcerors, her aqueducts drawing precious water from the war torn lands abroad into her bathhouses and wells. Places he would frequent as he wrote about the repairs the city would need to have done, not for its people's sake, but for the sorcerer's safety. 

The loose roof tiles on a popular lounge, the cracks in the walls to the judge's temple, the shady orphan who lurked close to the marketplace that would need to be. Rehomed. It wasn't just architectural safety, it was social security as well. Often it was said his guild were spies and saboteurs, the secret police of the golden scorpion. He thought his grim work made him safe, and he was wrong. He was taken from his home, ripped from his husband's arms amid suspicion of treachery after a sorcerer's accidental death in the street he oversaw. He looked behind the temple doors that night, but he doesn't remember what was there. Only that he awoke to the raging storms of duat, the land of the dead, and was given over to the service of the judges. Then he slept again. And he awoke again to find it all lost to the sands. 

He was powerful then, resolute in his mission to cleanse this foreign city of its blood bathers, body snatchers, and death cheaters. Vampires, ghosts, and magi alike fell beneath the crushing weight of his judge granted Sekhim. But now the light was fading. He had done enough of his service and soon would sleep again. His senses dulled, and the warm glow of life was leaving him in a manner slow as it was sure. His memories were clearer than ever, but he knew sleep would pull the fog across his mind again. He treasured his moments here with his Sadikh running a finger over his chest, indulging in the wonders of this place that really wasn't so different from his home, save the set dressing. 

Even now though, he was troubled by the last words of the final vampire he slew in his holy mission. The so-called dragon prince. As it writhed under the grip of his magic, it said, 

"Whoever you serve has a powerful tool in you. If you have any humanity left in your shell of a body, remember what it was like to be free of their demands. Look me in the eye and-" 

He cut the creature off by staking it then. A common trick of vampire-kind was some sort of mind warping magic they needed eye contact to use. But. He never looked in the vile things eyes, and even now, the worm of treachery was rooted in the back of his mind. Why was he called to the judges? Why was his memory wiped clean after his awakenings? Did he really want this? If he asked it of them to free him, would they? He inhaled on the strange pipe again, and as he exhaled, he could feel a bit of his power seep from his body.


	5. Suffer Not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into the past, where a young woman is set to burn for witchcraft.

The parish gathered in silence that morning around the small town square, where all through the dark hours timbers were laid and arranged for a burning. Jacqueline Mather had been accused and confirmed a witch, and without so much as saying a word, just after the rooster's first crow, she was guided then tied to her own pyre. It was a wet morning, as rain had fallen through the night, and the wood was sotten through, but the date was set and nothing could stop Bishop Barelle from carrying out his holy orders apon the accused. The first words to break were his, calling for the town's executioner to fetch some oil and thatch, so that the wood might catch and keep a flame. Jacqueline under her breath spoke, but none were close enough to hear exactly what she said. 

"It is with the authority granted to me by the church, the pope, and God that you are brought here to suffer the pain of your sins. God is merciful, and all sinners may recant their ways, if you do so now at this final moment you shall be spared the fire, just as you shall be spared the flamed of hell. Your fate then would be the gallows, and your body may rest in the churchyard beside your mother and father. Do you reject the ways of the devil and the practiced arts of hell which you visited apon your neighbors?" 

Jacqueline stared silently at the bishop, whose demeanor did not change. It was not long before she spoke with her answer. 

"No." 

The gathered crowd was alarmed, some gasping, others shouting or gossiping among eachother. The bishop frowned and crossed himself as he stepped away from the stake to a comfortable distance. 

"Begone from here then, wicked one. The devil awaits you with your final reward." 

Laughter erupted from Jacqueline, and an air of unease hung over the townsfolk as she did. 

"Awaits me! Why Bishop, awaits me when?" 

Barelle grew pale, and shouted at the woman with as much nerve as he could muster, 

"This very morning! And soon you shall regardless of your wishes be obliging him, witch!" 

She responded to this with more laughter, hysterically expressing some cruel mirth at the bishop's discomfort. People began to talk again, and it was when Patricia Volen asked what was taking the executioner so damn long with the kindling that Jacqueline gave a wild eyed look to the housewife, smiling wide like she was anticipating something. 

The bishop immediately called for a few local watchmen to fetch the executioner, but too late. A boom resounded along with a wave of sudden heat, as a nearby building's windows blew out spewing fire. Fire that would soon spread throughout the town's buildings. Men rushed to gather water to douse it but it was fierce and strong. In the confusion, Jacqueline called out to a young man in the crowd in a gentle speaking voice. Bidding him to come and untie the ropes binding her to the stake. 

If there were no magic at work she would have been caught, but there was, for Jacqueline Mather was guilty as charged. And now without remorse she ran from town along the road, with a new helper at her heels. The hammer of the witches would follow, but she was a tough nail to strike, and a bit of laying low after this would help.


	6. Gehenna Casino

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another look to a lovely nighttime locale.

The slots, blackjack tables, buffets and bars, they all had just the right mystique. There's a bit of magic that comes from the glitzy atmosphere, from that slice of sin city, and when a million bucks comes out from the backroom to pay out, noone bats an eye. When you're just a bit too drunk and feel the pull to go all in, you figure, fuck it. 

You come here because you want. Ars cupiditate, the art of desire. You want, so it only makes sense that you should receive. It's a place of miracles, just don't mind the guard with the bad eye that takes unruly customers out to "chat". If you order some company, treat then right and pay them well, unless you want a visit from the Book-keeper. God help you if you try to cheat or steal, cause the owner's like to make you dissapear. Maybe literally. Blood, essence, quintessence, its a wonder how one misplaced delinquent can offer up so many wonders to those without the compunctions to take. And the opportunity. Gehenna was made of opportunities. 

You wake up in a small room blinded by light, cause you see they need you to be awake for this part, while three figures have a rather civil discussion about how to partition you. Dragging the dagger just a bit too hard here and there trying to figure out where it makes you least comfortable, soaking in the sweet drink of your dreams fermenting, rotting. You nearly killed that man, you violated that girl, you tried to make off with the dealer's pay. The three corners of this house have no sympathy for you, what a shame.


End file.
